


of the nile beyond

by orphan_account



Category: Night at the Museum (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Egypt, M/M, Master/Slave, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-16
Updated: 2015-09-16
Packaged: 2018-04-21 01:46:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4810226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Accused of crimes he didn't commit, Larry is at the mercy of the Fourth King of the Fourth King.</p>
            </blockquote>





	of the nile beyond

Shimmering. The sand far off into the horizon, framed by pale blue sky. The air was shimmering where they touched in a blurred line. 

He hurt. Sweat rolling down his forehead as guards dragged him from the slew his master had called a farm. His wrists were bound behind his back, as was he similarly hobbled at his knees. He stumbled along, held up by unforgiving hands and an adrenaline that faded with each step. 

Larry's fate was sealed, or so he imagined. His crime, although a fabrication, was enough to lose him his life. Forgery, theft, and a theft of a different kind, involving the daughter of his master. 

His head hung between his shoulders and he felt violently ill as they reached court. He slumped even further when they passed the threshold, his legs giving way. He dangled between the city guards. If they paid any mind to his state they didn't care, opting to drag him the rest of the way. His blistered feet left scuffs on polished tile – what was the point in walking when he was to face his death soon. 

A hush fell as he was brought to audience with the king. They threw him unceremoniously to the floor, and his palms connecting with tile seemed to echo off the brightly painted walls. In here out of Ra's harsh beams it was cooler but not by much and sweat pooled in the hollow of his throat. 

Larry inhaled shakily. He heard the shift of fabric. For a second he forgot himself, he glanced up, eyes finding the the Pharaoh. It's a grievous mistake and he doesn't miss the subtle change, a boyish face with eyes that are liquid and shifting with pinpricks of reflected gold. There's a hardness within their depths absent from his face. 

He averts his gaze, his shoulders trembling. Although he faces death, he also faces a God, ethereal and just. And Larry knows this _is_ the God — not mere man, nor king —he kneels before, he bows his head in further submission. 

“What is this.” 

“A slave turned thief, _nsw-bity_ ,” spits one of the guards. 

“And what has he stolen?” 

“The properties of his lord and the honour of his daughter.” 

Larry feels numb but for the kings inquisitive eyes on him. He presses his lips together in hopes of stifling his rising panic. 

“What have you to say in your defence?” 

His ears perk. Defence? He swallows, though his mouth is as dry as all of Kemet. 

“I stole nothing, _nsw-bity_ , Ahkunra.” He breathes. The king shifts and sandal clad feet come into view. He studies them intently, any means of distraction. 

“Look at me.”

The request takes him by surprise. His eyes climb the man before him but he has no time for details because he's trapped by that gaze.

“A hand perhaps,” the king says after a long moment. Larry feels two things at once. Relief and horror. 

A guard moves to take his arm, he's dragged backwards and to his feet. He searches the face of the king, desperate in spite of the mercy already given. 

“ _Nsw-bity!_ ” He cries, twisting away from the guards. He shuffles forward, his knees colliding so hard with the tile that he winces. He crawls, clawing for purchase as he's apprehended once more. 

He knows where they're taking him. A place where his blood won't sully the kings court. A place where the king, God, or man won't have to see or hear him.

Larry stares openly now, he trashes wildly. A fist finds his temple and he's stunned for a long second. He's carried further away, towards the outside heat. And the king is still watching, unmoved, his lips pressed into a thin line – displeasure? 

Larry reaches out with his bound hands, his fingers uncurling as though he has something to offer. 

“Please!” He cries and suddenly there is a stillness. 

The guards have stopped moving, in fact they're releasing him. 

“What would you do, were I to grant you freedom?” The king asks. There's an odd tone to his voice, far too curious.

Larry hobbles his way over then drops to his hands and knees before the man. Is it the man? The faces of the king are interchangeable but nearly unreadable. 

“I wouldn't need freedom, _nsw-bity_ ,” he replies and crawls the rest of the way. The king does not stop him, does not kick him away. Larry prostrates himself, and carefully his lips find the feet before him. “Spare me my limbs, _Netjeri-Kheper-Ra_ , for I'll need them both in order to serve.”

He doesn't look up, doesn't move. His face hovers above the kings feet, he waits, his blood loud in his ears. 

Larry doesn't expect much, if anything. The son of a traveling merchant and a brothel whore he doesn't look the Egyptian part. At least not where his face is concerned. Nose with a little too much character, eyes of the blue that surrounds Ra. His complexion pale in comparison. 

Surely he'd be of no use to the king of Upper and Lower Kemet. 

“My sandal bearer, perhaps,” the king says and the man turns and makes a gesture. The feet of a young boy comes into view. “You are to resume palace duties.” The king says and the boy turns at the dismissal. 

“Bind him completely,” the king says, addressing the palace guards. “Leave him in my chambers. Do not feed him.”

Larry sucks in a deep breath, the king shifts out of view before a foot is placed flat on his ribs. A force comes from the kings heel, Larry topples over. He lays there placidly as the king stares down at him. 

“I may yet take your hand,” he says quietly, but there's no real promise in the words. 

When the king retreats to some point beyond his vision, palace guards gather him up. He gets the full treatment. A quick scrub with a hard sponge, his clothes burned and a _shenti_ tied expertly around his waist. He's then bound with much softer rope than the previous and left, discarded upon what he assumes is the kings bed to wait. 

Larry drifts and the king doesn't arrive until Khonsu is high amongst a blanket of stars.


End file.
